


Couldn't Drag Me Away

by shati



Category: Sungkyunkwan Scandal
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shati/pseuds/shati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A head poked out from behind the shed at the end of the alley.</p><p>Yong-ha looked at his attackers, and looked at the shadowy figure, and did some simple math very quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Drag Me Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starryeyedsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedsea/gifts).



> Many thanks to innerbrat and skygiants for speedy and helpful betaing, and to chase for last-minute old-fashioned name help! All remaining flaws are my own.

Ultimately, the blame could be laid at the feet of a late shipment from Persia, which itself was delayed by foul weather. Which left Yong-ha himself blameless for his predicament.

The wealthy side of mercantile district was his favorite place in the city: rows and rows of glossy textiles and gleaming porcelain, and better yet, Qing and Japanese and Manchurian imports. But those goods had to be shipped in to Pyongnam and dispersed, and that meant, between shipments, nothing new came in.

And that meant that between shipments, it was boring. He'd made the rounds through half of Hanseong already – tea houses, restaurants, even the butchers' district. (Briefly, with an ivory silk hankerchief clasped to his nose.)

That left the black markets of Banchon.

The stall to his left had a new bolt of patterned spring-green silk and one of deep magenta, and his hand ran smoothly over both when the stall owner turned to talk to a customer. To his right, the same graceful porcelain jars he'd seen last week, pure white and tasteful; he poked one and moved on. The next stall down had tortoiseshell hat strings hung in rows.

Yong-ha amused himself swinging the strings of beads against each other until the stall owner scowled and chased him away.

The next treasure was the best: a small lacquered box, plum-colored, with a floral pattern so fine he could barely see the feathery leaf-tips.

"Ay, selling damaged goods?" he said, snatching his hand away and giving the stall owner a look of disgust. His name was – Ye Byeong-cheol? Ye Byeong-ho? Da-som's father.

Possibly-Byeong-cheol said, "Brat! Who's selling damaged goods?"

Yong-ha curled his lip. "There's a scratch on this side."

It was the outline of a vine, but if the light hit it the right way, and if Byeong-cheol was as nearsighted as he looked, it might pass for a scratch.

"A scratch, he says." Byeong-cheol sighed heavily, his face sagging. Yong-ha studied his expression with approval: it was very convincing. "You yangban! You slander my stock so you can demand a lower price when you walk around wearing thirty nyang on your back alone..."

Yong-ha grinned. "Since I've already had to spend the thirty nyang, what else can I do?"

 

He tossed the lacquered box up and caught it as he walked, admiring the play of light on its sides. A woman hurrying past gave him a dirty look when a corner almost clipped her shoulder; Yong-ha turned his head to blink innocently at her, which distracted him from the other hand reaching to catch his box.

It landed in the other outstretched palm. For a moment time seemed to freeze, and when it came unstuck, his box was halfway down the street, tucked in some thief's dirty fists.

"Hey!" Yong-ha took off after him. "That's mine!"

He dodged a fishmonger, spun around a gaggle of amused gisaeng, and ducked under a low-hanging curtain. The thief dodged around a corner and crashed straight into a woman laden with a basket, scattering apples everywhere. 

Yong-ha grinned, and picked up speed.

A few minutes later he burst into the mouth of a narrow back-alley, panting and clutching a stomach cramp, and skidded to an ungraceful halt. 

"Hey..."

There were five boys, all taller them him, all dressed in the same ragged colorless clothes. Five pairs of cold eyes fastened on him. One of them held a piece of wood, splintered and heavy-looking. Another was cracking his knuckles. One, less devoted to intimidation, was picking his teeth.

Yong-ha swallowed, and tried a smile on for size. It was a poor fit. "Hello," he said brightly. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"Get lost, punk." Thief #1 tossed the box to Splintered Wood and took a step toward Yong-ha, cracking his fist. "Unless you want to fight me for it."

Yong-ha flung up his hands. "I don't think there's any need for that," he said, hoping it was true. "If you'll just return that trifle that I see fell into your hands by mistake...I'll be on my way and trouble you no further."

Hands closed around his collar, and Thief #1 jerked him forward. "You wanna die, punk?"

"No," Yong-ha squeaked. "That absolutely isn't something I want."

"Hold on," said Knuckle Cracker, moving closer. "Look at his clothes. They're worth just as much. More, maybe."

Yong-ha clutched his sleeves protectively.

"You want to take his clothes?" Tooth-picker frowned and abandoned his dental hygiene. "I don't want to undress a guy. That's weird."

"He's pretty enough to be a girl," said Splintered Wood.

"How about undressing a corpse?" said Knuckle Cracker.

It was time to make a choice, and Yong-ha decided that life was more valuable than a lacquered box, or at least more difficult to replace. When Thief #1 glanced sideways, he made a dive for the opening of the alley, but a hand dragged him back. His desperate flailing caught Thief #1 on the chin; the thief looked more startled than hurt, but he hit back anyway. He was better at it, Yong-ha decided generously.

Tooth-picker said, "But he'd still be a guy corpse, y'know?"

Thief #1 grabbed Yong-ha's shoulder and yanked him back, and the sound of tearing fabric startled them both. Along a seam, but – "Help!" Yong-ha shrieked, abandoning self-defense. "Thieves!" A fist cut him off, and bright spots of pain flared around the edges of his vision. But a moment later a head poked out from behind the shed at the end of the alley.

Yong-ha looked at his attackers, and looked at the shadowy figure, and did some simple math very quickly.

"Oy, Geol-oh!" he called. "I'm glad to see you."

The thieves turned to look.

"Geol-oh?" said one, uneasily.

"That's what everyone calls him!" Yong-ha made a mock fist with one hand, demonstrating. "Because he's crazy. He'll fight anyone. He starts a fight if his breakfast is burnt."

A wave of muttering surrounded him as the thieves turned back to look at each other, which meant that no one but Yong-ha saw the baffled look on the stranger's face.

Yong-ha leaned in, and stage-whispered, "He gets angry if his food is cooked well, because it means he has no excuse to start a fight. So, he'll start a fight over that as well."

The stranger raised his eyebrows.

"Who is he?" Thief #1 glanced back toward the end of the alley, and Yong-ha's heart, already under some strain, skipped a beat before he registered that the stranger's face was expressionless again. He exhaled his relief.

"He's my childhood friend, of course," he told his audience, beginning to ease Thief #1's hand off his arm. That earned him a scowl, so he draped the same arm around the thief and patted his shoulder. "Naturally, he's very protective of me. He probably got worried when I ran off without him." He lifted his head past Thief #1's shoulder so the stranger could see his face, and winked. "Geol-oh, friend, it's all right! They were just roughhousing. Isn't that right?"

More muttering filled the air as the thieves reluctantly allowed that they were, indeed, just horsing around. Thief #1's fists tightened when Yong-ha solicitously brushed some dirt off the rough fabric of his jacket, but the stranger's head turned toward him, and he didn't protest. Yong-ha grinned and reached back to straighten his collar.

"Thank you," he told Splintered Wood, coaxing the box out of his grip. "Very considerate of you to hold this while we wrestled. Go in peace.”

Tooth-picker was gaping. Yong-ha pointed to where Tooth-picker still had food stuck and gave him an encouraging grin.

He made sure to stop just behind Geol-oh, so if he got any funny looks, the thugs wouldn't see them. And then he waited while the thieves broke off, one by one, and drifted back to the bustle of the main streets.

When the last – Tooth-picker – was gone, they stood in what Yong-ha decided to believe was a companionable silence, until Geol-oh said, "You're weird.”

He wasn't the first to say so. Yong-ha shrugged. “I'm well-dressed,” he countered.

“What was all that?”

Yong-ha tucked the box against his side and studied his rescuer. His clothes were neat, but not flashy, and a little too loose. Plain colors, plain cuts. The cloth was decent quality, a heavy, even weave, but hardly the most expensive of fabrics. He could be the same age – they were about the same height, but the other boy had filled out more. His face was still fascinatingly bare of expression.

"An inconvenience," Yong-ha said, and grimaced. "Someone should really do something about the public safety."

The other boy made a dismissive noise. "They probably needed that more than you do."

"Oh, do you think so?" He raised the box to eye level, pursing his mouth. "What, to keep their hat strings in?"

"To sell, moron. They looked hungry."

Yong-ha glanced back at the mouth of the alley. "They could sell your clothes, maybe you should go give them your top. Mm?" He clicked his tongue. "Why did you just stand there if you're so sympathetic?"

Geol-oh shrugged. "You're no match for them. Since you went and followed them..."

Offended, Yong-ha said, “I was fine.”

“You shouldn't tell lies, it'll become a habit.”

“I don't _have_ habits,” Yong-ha told him, and blinked extravagantly. “Habits are boring. I could have fought them off by myself. I just – prefer to avoid bloodshed."

His own, specifically.

A warm hand closed around his wrist, and tugged his arm up. "With these hands?" said Geol-oh. He sounded amused.

The skin of his palm was rough against Yong-ha's. He'd had some training in martial arts. Archery, maybe? "Well..." he said, distracted. "It's fortunate we met then, Geol-oh."

The hand let go. "That's not my name."

Yong-ha cocked his head, and rubbed his palm against his side. It was sweaty; unlike him. Interesting. "What should I call you, then?"

Geol-oh gave him a dubious look.

“Well, you have to tell me your name, seeing as we're best friends,” Yong-ha said reasonably. He poked Geol-oh's shoulder. “Isn't that right?”

After a pause, the boy said, "Moon Jae-shin."

Moon. Yong-ha rubbed the fabric of Jae-shin's sleeve between his fingers, thinking. Minister Moon? Could be; a yangban, but not one so wealthy he would splurge on his child's wardrobe. "The minister's son?" When Jae-shin nodded, he said, "So you're a Soron." No one his father would praise him for mingling with.

No one his father would stop him from mingling with, though. And he knew how to find Minister Moon's house.

"What are you?"

He grinned. "I'm Goo Yong-ha," he said.


End file.
